The itch was a part of him now; he didn’t feel right without it. The ever-present wind whipped his long black hair over his face. Annoyed, he pushed it back. This burned wind! he thought. It always blows out here. Of all the various things he’d had to put up with, this wretched wind was the worst. Recently it was bringing with it the scents and tastes of volcanic ash. Another mountain had blown its guts out. That made six in the last two months. The range marking the northern edge of the Great Fastness glowed with the angry red of lava. Every night it tinged the sky, casting an eerie light over this most lonely of places. ‘Shanek!’ called Ejaj. ‘See anything?’ Shanek shook his head. ‘They’ve made it to the mountains by now. They’re gone.’ ‘There’ll be more tomorrow.’ ‘There’d better be,’ Shanek muttered. Even after months of slaughter, his hunger for more Skrinnies to kill was unquenched. ‘Leave it, Shanek,’ said Ananda. ‘Let’s make camp. That knot had enough to keep us busy for a week, just counting it all.
